


Desperate Try for Elusive Peace

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood Addiction, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Gun Kink, M/M, Name-Calling, Object Insertion, Painplay, Post-Hell, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6409234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pain and sex are sometimes the only thing that can curb Sam's cravings. After hell, pain and sex are definitely things Dean can deliver on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Try for Elusive Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janicec678](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janicec678/gifts).



Green eyes, sandy hair. The kid sure is a pretty little thing. He smiles shy and sweet at Sam, edging just a little closer into the bigger man’s space and staying there when Sam doesn’t back away. 

 

Sam’s attractive. Dean knows that. Dean also knows he and his brother have had more than one ‘talk’ about Sam flirting with strangers. And with those hooded eyes and dimples, Sam’s definitely flirting with the twink desperately trying to attach himself to Sam’s arm. 

 

Dean lets it play out, curious as to how far Sam will let things go. He breaks when the boy presses himself right up against Sam’s chest with no protest from Sam. Knocking back his beer, Dean chucks the empty in a garbage barrel as he walks past, sidling up to the pair at the bar.

 

“Hey, Sammy,” he drawls low and smooth. “Who’s your friend?” Dean can’t see his own expression, but it must reveal every bit of the anger simmering beneath his skin. The kid - cause he is a kid, looks like damn near jailbait now that Dean’s up close - gets one look at him and backs off, stammering an apology as he scampers back to his flock of friends across the bar. 

 

“That wasn’t nice, Dean.” It doesn’t half as petulant as Sam probably intends it to be. His eyes track the kid until he disappears amid the throng, slightly hungry but mostly disinterested. 

 

“You little shit.” Digging his billfold out of his pocket, Dean drops enough for their drinks and a tip on the bar, grabbing Sam by the scruff of his jacket and leading him toward the door. 

 

“Let me  _ go _ , jackass.” Sam’s loud enough to draw some attention, but Dean ignores the bystanders, shoving Sam ahead of him until they’re out the door and grabbing him by the collar again. 

 

“Fuck you, Sammy. You wanna be a little bitch? I can sure as hell treat you like one. Now get in the fucking car.” Dean drags him all the way to the Impala, shoving Sam against his side hard enough that the younger man grunts. He doesn’t argue though, just shoots Dean a deadly look as he climbs in, slamming the door so hard the car rocks. 

 

Tension coils thick between them on the short drive back to the motel, fueled by rage and lust and alcohol. Sam’s out of the car before Dean can put her in park and he nearly shuts the door in Dean’s face as he strides into the motel room. 

 

Dean launches himself at Sam once the door clicks shut behind them, tackling him to the bed. They roll in a flurry of limbs and shouts, hitting the floor hard enough to knock the air out of themselves. Sam aims a wild swing at Dean, only to have his wrist snatched in a tight grip and forced up and over his head. He struggles, swinging the other hand up and trying to buck Dean off, but Dean’s quick to pin him solid. 

 

“You want it rough, Sam, all you gotta do is ask,” Dean pants. “Know you’re a slut for it.” He manages to get his belt off, lashing it tight around Sam’s wrists before undoing his zip. “Open up, little brother.” 

 

Sam almost acts like he’s going to fight it, but that hungry look is there, too, hiding beneath defiance. It takes Dean grabbing Sam’s jaw in a bruising grip to get him to open his mouth, and Dean wastes no time shoving in once he does. Despite his rebellious attitude, Sam sucks Dean in readily, groaning low and his eyes almost fluttering shut as his big brother fucks his mouth. A shudder runs through Sam when Dean fists a hand in his hair, pulling it tight in his hand so he can guide Sam’s mouth back and forth on his cock. 

 

“That’s it, Sammy. Fucking hot little mouth.” 

 

Dean pulls out before he finishes. It won’t be giving Sam what he needs if Dean comes in his mouth. Sam’s mouth is red from use, shiny with spit and precome. He only gets a beat to catch his breath, then Dean’s palm goes cracking across his cheek. The blow leaves a pink mark in the shape of Dean’s hand and it drives a whine from Sam’s throat, his hips bucking hard enough that he lifts Dean with him. 

 

“Yeah, need it bad, don’tcha.” 

 

There’s a crack just then, a bit of Sam’s vulnerability shining through as he murmurs, “Please” so soft that they could deny it ever happened. He gives a token of a struggle as Dean shoves his shirt up and yanks his pants down, but Dean’s there in a matter of moments to press him back down into the scratchy carpet. 

 

A pocket packet of lube gets ripped open with teeth, leaving a tiny streak over Dean’s bottom lip. He dumps it over Sam’s balls, letting it drip down behind and onto the fingers he’s pressing against his brother’s hole. Sam opens up sweet and easy, just like always, hot around Dean’s fingers as he pushes them in. He doesn’t spare much time for prep, just enough to make sure Sam’s nice and slick inside.

 

It takes Dean two thrusts to bury himself fully, dragging a pained sound out of Sam’s throat as his body protests the sudden stretch. Planting a hand on Sam’s chest to pin him, Dean grips one muscled thigh and fucks in roughly. He digs his nails into soft skin, grinning when Sam gasps and arches into the pain like he can’t decide if he wants to shove Dean away or force him closer. Every thrust drags Dean’s nails back and forth slightly, tearing at the skin and Sam writhe under his hand and around his cock 

 

“You know I don’t like it when you flirt, Sammy. Know there’s no way in hell any of those pretty boys and pretty girls are ever going to get to touch you, don’t you?” Dean’s voice is sex-rough, gritty as he breathes the words out, eyes fixed on his little brother’s face. “Say you’re sorry, Sam.” 

 

Sam doesn’t answer, of course he fucking doesn’t. He’s far too stubborn for that. With a sigh, Dean unclenches his hand, admiring the marks left behind briefly. He backhands Sam quick and sharp, grunting when his brother clenches around him on instinct. Still, Sam’s all defiance, fists clenched above his head and teeth in his lip, refusing to speak. 

 

Circling his fingers around the base of Sam’s cock, Dean thrusts rapidly, moaning loud as he comes deep in his brother. 

 

“Son of a bitch,” Sam gasps. He’s twitching, cock leaking and arms twisting as he fights his bonds. His hole is puffy, leaking come when Dean yanks out, legs trying to keep his brother inside, but Dean breaks the hold. 

 

“Get up.” An order, not a request and Dean slaps Sam again when he doesn’t move. It’s harder with bound hands, but Sam manages. He only makes it one step before Dean’s shoving him down on the bed, face pressed against the cheap bedspread. 

 

Dean’s Colt shines where he abandoned it on the floor, and he snatches it up on a whim. Emptying it of bullets and ensuring that the safety is on, he lays it on the bed next to Sam. There’s the dregs of the bottle of lube in Sam’s duffle, more than enough for what Dean has planned. Using his thumbs, he drags Sam’s cheeks apart, dipping one into hot heat just to watch the hole flutter around it. 

 

“If you can say you’re sorry, Sam, I’ll let you come right here, right now. All you gotta do is say it.” An out, if Sam wants it. An out Dean has to offer; his conscience won’t let him sleep tonight if he doesn’t try. 

 

“No.” It lacks conviction, rasped in Sam’s now-hoarse voice, but it’s enough. 

 

Long legs kick reflexively when the first blow lands on Sam’s ass. Dean edges closer, pushing Sam down with a hand on the dip of his back and angling himself so he has enough room to swing. He’s glad the motel is such a dump; Sam’s yelps and curses as his spanking wears on would get them kicked out of a classier joint. 

 

Outlines of Dean’s fingers criss-cross Sam’s ass, layers of red on red that might even leave bruises when everything's said and done. For now, it’s enough that running his hand over the heated skin makes Sam hiss and squirm. 

 

Dean doesn’t wait to ask if Sam’s sorry yet. Instead, he drizzles lube over the barrel of his gun, feeling a tiny thrill when he strokes it like he would his cock. Sam clenches up when the cold metal makes contact with his skin. Nudging it against that tender pucker, Dean almost feels words of praise slip from his mouth when Sam relaxes enough to let the barrel in. It’s unforgiving, metal splitting him wide, grooves and sight digging at soft insides until the trigger guard presses up against his rim. 

 

“Dean.” Broken little sound, a plea that could mean stop, that could mean  _ break me brother please _ , and Dean’s caught up in indecision until Sam rocks back ever so slightly. He doesn’t move fast, letting every inch drag slowly out and punch back in. It tugs Sam’s rim along with it, soft pink clinging to gleaming metal. Dean finds an angle that drags along his brother’s prostate on the way out, biting hard into it on the inward shove, and he’s not sure if the choked sounds coming from Sam’s mouth are more moans or sobs. 

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Dean,” he blurts suddenly, voice thick. 

 

Gently, Dean draws the gun out, dumping it on his crumpled jeans. “Okay, Sammy. Okay.” 

 

Sam’s slick enough inside that Dean can slide two fingers in. He’s hot from getting fucked, tender enough to suck in a breath at the intrusion. Dean goes right for his sweet spot, rubbing it steadily while reaching up to fist Sam’s cock. He strokes firm but slow, watching as Sam’s hole clenches and his thighs start to tremble. With a wretched sound, Sam comes, spurting down the side of the bed to make a messy puddle on the dirty carpet. 

 

Red circles Sam’s wrists when Dean undoes his belt. Dean rolls him over, stomach clenching slightly at the tear tracks on his little brother’s face. 

 

“Sammy?” 

 

“Dean.” 

 

Tugging Sam up the bed, Dean swipes a shirt off the floor to clean the tears and sweat and come from them both. He’s shaking a little now that the anger that had boiled over inside has simmered down. Sam goes easily when Dean spoons up against him, trembling in Dean’s hold. 

 

“You okay?” Dean whispers, squeezing Sam tight.

 

“Yeah, I-I’m sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay, Sam. We’re alright. This was a bad one, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Getting Sam off the demon blood had been hard. Detox tore through him with dangerously high fevers and horrific hallucinations. Dean and Bobby weren’t sure he’d survive it, but Sam had pulled through. Like any addiction, though, Sam’s cravings came raging back with such suddenness that they often overwhelmed him. Pain and sex were the only things that could sate him and wear him out enough to ride out a craving when one hit. After Hell, pain and sex were definitely things Dean could deliver on. 

 

Their shaking stops after a while, Dean’s long before Sam’s. It’s late, but he fishes out a phone and finds a pizza place to deliver. He can’t leave Sam to run for food or soda, so he fills the flimsy plastic cups in the bathroom with water, urging one down Sam and leaving the other on the bedside. Tugging the dirty cover off the bed, Dean dumps it on the floor and pulls the sheets over them both. 

 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam manages after a while. Dean just tightens his arms in response, dropping a kiss onto Sam’s shoulder. 


End file.
